Words and Photos: Jesse Felker
I woke up after a night of below zero temps and wind and saw my breath in the morning light illuminating my tent. My first task was to layer up in the gear that I had slept with to keep it from freezing. Then came those frozen boots that helped me start my day off with ice cold toes. The VHF radio was a mix of static and that robotic weather frequency voice, informing me of heavy snow and gusts of wind up to 35mph for the day ahead. Poking my head out of the vestibule revealed a large amount of new snow accumulated overnight, I thought to myself, “This is no ordinary moto-camping trip.”
Lukas Eddy arrived the night before. He brought two loaner snowbikes for us to use for winter moto-camping in the Idaho backcountry. As we packed and bounced ideas off of each other, we went through a process of elimination packing only the most essential gear. Figuring out what was most important was easy: bring things to keep us from dying. Avalanche equipment. Camping gear for the extreme conditions we would be in. Food and water that needed to be prevented from freezing. I stuffed many large hand warmers into my duffle, hoping the waterproof properties of the bag would help contain some heat.
Lukas and I had never ridden any type of snow machine, so preparedness would only get us so far. We would need some guidance. We both had plenty of experience riding motorcycles through rough terrain and conditions, so we felt confident going headfirst into this endeavor. However, having a knowledgeable individual of the sport and region would be essential to make sure we weren’t getting in over our heads or into a risky situation. After all, this would be far different from any type of riding we had done. I tracked down a local in Salmon, ID named Galen Jarvis who was thoroughly excited to take us on this adventure.
We loaded up the three snowbikes onto Galen’s trailer early Saturday morning and headed down the highway. After driving for an hour, we could barely see the mountain peaks of our destination through the snowstorm. We laughed nervously, as we were throwing ourselves right into what could potentially be a miserable mess. The road leading up to our staging area had drifting snow from the high winds coming through the valley, and the truck struggled a bit to get to where we’d need to park.
We unloaded and geared up quickly. I threw a leg over my machine after letting it warm up and took off on my first ever moment of riding a snowbike. Surprisingly, they handled far differently than a dirt bike. Steering was vastly different and took some adjusting to understand how to go the direction I wanted. After just moments, I was off the side of the road, and my front ski dove deep into the powder and augured the track in deep. Galen eventually found me, helped pull the bike out, and explained that the snow surface crusted from the wind and made it difficult to ride in. Back on track, we headed up the forest service road behind Galen.
We quickly gained elevation and the experience improved by the minute. The powder got deeper and easier to ride, as long as I kept the RPMs in the upper range. I was no longer struggling with the terrain, and adapted to the lean and carve required to send myself in the right direction. I felt like I was riding on a cloud. Within minutes, I thought, “This is way better than dirt biking.” Something I didn’t know was possible.
Surrounded by old homesteads, mining equipment, and tall pines clumped with snow, our bright bikes and riding gear stood out in contrast to the dark green and white. The bikes thundered loudly up the incline, breaking the silence of the woods. Snow drifted down the steep hillsides so much that it was as if the road hadn’t been carved, and I worried the bike would slide sideways right off of them. However, with how narrow the machines are, they side hilled easily around those obstacles.
Eventually, we arrived at a huge flat area full of timber and open spaces, with a frozen lake and high cliffs in all directions. We clipped unseen obstacles buried below the surface, dropping the bikes on their sides and fell deep into the powder. It was a struggle getting them back up alone. Stopping for lunch, we fought thick ice built up on our bags. Unbuckling and opening the stiff tarp material was tough, which makes you ask yourself if you’ve got everything you need before packing everything up again.
Running out of daylight, Lukas and I followed Galen up a tight ravine, zig-zagging between trees, rocks, and steep hillsides best avoided with the snow conditions. At a stopping point on a ridge, I checked my GPS app and saw we had reached 10,000’/3,000M. The wind was pretty severe, so we all agreed to search for a spot with somewhat of a wind block. Galen and Lukas pointed their bikes downhill and took off down the ridge. By the time I caught up with them, Lukas was already off of his bike and digging deep into the snow with his avalanche shovel, only his torso was visible.
After a couple of hours, we had our tents set up, and gear unloaded. We piled dry wood up on one side of Lukas’ gigantic snow-pit. It was now 6PM and only 7°F/-13C. With a bit of gasoline and some fire starter brick, a comforting flame was rolling. We boiled water for our dehydrated meals and had congratulatory cheers with slushy beers. We all were struggling with the cold. The relentless wind and snow were blowing through camp. We were all playing a game called “Do I have to take my gloves off for this task, or not?” while doing simple tasks. It didn’t take long for us to turn in to our tents to try and stay warm through the night.
I dreaded gearing down. That also meant climbing into a frozen sleeping bag and waiting for my body temp to warm it up. I cinched down the hood of the mummy bag as far as it would go, hoping my breath would create a warm air environment. Throughout the night, the wind would pick up hard, making me shiver until I drifted back to sleep.
Awaking for the final time, I reached for my radio, a morning ritual for myself when camping. I clicked my way through the frequencies. At 162.500 MHz, I picked up the local NOAA station. I geared back up while listening to the forecast, then unzipped my vestibule and dug out the snow piled up in front of it.
Looking at camp, I saw that all traces of our tracks were erased. We must have had about a foot of fresh powder. The surface was perfectly smooth, drifting into tiny cornices. Each bike was blanketed in snow. The last remaining recognizable human-made trace was our snow pit shelter, with an avalanche shovel handle poking out of the snow at the entrance.
Back inside my tent, I made a quick boil-bag breakfast. The steam filled the tiny shelter, making it pleasantly warm for a few minutes. A sequence of zipper noises was followed by someone saying, “Whoa!! Have you looked outside yet??” I soon saw the goofy grins on the other guys’ faces at the amazement of the weather we were experiencing.
It didn’t take long at all for the weather report on the radio to come true. Heavy snow began, with goose feather flakes falling. The snow depth started rising quickly, already burying my tracks inches deep by the time I circled around my tent digging out the stakes. With everything else packed first, we stuffed our tents into the remaining dry bag and secured each one in our luggage harnesses. It took some patience, but we finally got all three bikes to wake up and break the silence. A quick radio communication check and we were ready to head out of camp.
Galen was a bit nervous about us making it out of camp and back to the main road, as he hadn’t seen snow this deep in the region in four years. With the track of my bike nearly completely buried, I understood why. After seeing the true snow depth from the pit Lukas had dug, we knew the power-robbing powder and bikes loaded down with gear was going to make it interesting. The only way to make sure the bikes would get moving and stay on top of the snow was to get the RPMs way up, drop the clutch quickly, and hang on.
Within a few minutes, we were back in a large opening. Crossing over a rolling hill, then dropping down the other side, I found the snow coming clear over my handlebars. I was certain the bike was going to submarine itself and completely stop. However, keeping the bike revved out allowed it to keep moving. The snow was pushing my legs back and taking my feet off of the pegs, but amazingly the bike kept powering through. It was like floating through a dense cloud, with no feedback from the ground like you’d have on the dirt. It was a nearly weightless feeling.
Every spot we returned to looked completely untouched as if we were never there. The big advantage of all the fresh snow was the fact that the ski wasn’t trying to track itself in the trails. It made it possible to easily pick any line or direction, and travel anywhere we wanted to go.
Along the way back to the truck, we stopped to visit more homesteads, each buried in snow and falling apart. It was interesting to think that people used to live in these simple structures in this kind of weather. However, our tents probably weren’t that much better at the end of the day.
Once back at the staging area, we immediately cranked the engines on and turned up the heat. Having some real warmth after a frigid weekend was a major luxury we took for granted beforehand. We loaded up the bikes and struggled a bit to just drive down the road that was drifted in snow.
This trip was unforgettable. We had finally all done some moto-camping in the dead of winter. I can’t speak for the others, but it was also the most fun vehicle I had ever ridden. I can’t wait to do it all again.
